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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26977894">The Wolf</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux'>gaialux</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boys (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:47:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26977894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're like The Wolf, bro. You get shit done when it needs to be done -- and only the people who need your help get to know about you."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Frenchman/Mother's Milk (The Boys)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/gifts">keerawa</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Which Supe is this again?" Frenchie asked with a lurch in his step as he struggled to keep up with MM. His mind and body were zinging, going up and up and up with whatever Cherie had got a hold of for them. Billy would give him a <em>look</em> and tut, but why did Frenchie care? He did his work. He was reliable and consistent. It didn't matter what anyone else may think.</p><p>MM gave Frenchie the slightest hint of a side-gaze. Like he really couldn't be bothered with this pepped up, explosives obsessed specimen of a guy. Another thing Frenchie didn't mind. Not really. "Eagle. Nothing major -- he has no hits out on him or anything, but Mallory wants us to keep any eye on him. Get a read out, make sure it's all above board."</p><p>"<em>Oui</em>," Frenchie said. "And then off him, uh? At Billy's orders? You know he thinks we should take the chance every time it appears."</p><p>"I know what Butcher thinks," MM said. More to himself than anything, it seemed.</p><p>They were on a busy street, weaving through people on their way home from work or out for an afternoon stroll. Lots of dogs. Frenchie always wanted a dog, but his mother was allergic and it wasn't like they had the money. What would he do if the dog got sick? He could hardly look after himself. A <em>chien </em>deserved much better.</p><p>On the walls of buildings were so many posters of Supes. Frenchie would never say -- because maybe it <em>would </em>get him kicked out of the group -- but when he was high it was as though those bodies were reaching out for him. Long fingers, studded shoes, piercing gazes. Homelander was the worst. His laser eyes on display in every promotional image and always, <em>always </em>trained on Frenchie. Like he knew what Billy was planning and what he was making Frenchie be a part of.</p><p>Frenchie never set out to be a killer. Things like that just happened. Again and again and again until it became his identity. Frenchie, gun runner. Frenchie, weapon's expert. Frenchie, contract killer.</p><p>He hurried ahead to keep up with MM. One of the few people who didn't treat him different. A person who treated him like a human being, a co-worker, someone who could be relied on and who could rely on MM in return. That was why Frenchie always jumped at the chance to work with him. Being in a small area with Billy for more than a few minutes was Frenchie's idea of Hell.</p><p>That can wait until he was well and truly dead, thank you very much.</p><p>They passed another Homelander poster. No laser eyes this time, thankfully, but a punch launching toward him. Frenchie ducked out of the way and that made MM stop. Stare. Ask, "You right?" and Frenchie said he was fine, let's keep going.</p><p>Walking and walking and why the fuck didn't they hail a cab? Frenchie was about to ask MM just that when MM's hand shot out. A real hand this time. It stopped Frenchie in his tracks.</p><p>"Look," MM said.</p><p>Frenchie's eyes were a little blurry, a little fuzzy, a little unclear around the edges. But he blinked that all away and focused on where MM was pointing. There, simply standing in the aisle of a supermarket across the road, was Eagle with his bow and arrow and Robin Hood getup. Who designed these Supe outfits anyway? He knew Vought had minimal control over everyone outside The Seven.</p><p>"Buying groceries," Frenchie said with a snort. "Very illegal."</p><p>"This is good," MM said. "We don't <em>want </em>them doing anything wrong."</p><p>"Don't we?" Frenchie sniffed. Nose twitching, itching. "You know Billy finds something wrong, always. Better to get it over and done with. Not let the guy feel he's being stalked."</p><p>MM turned to Frenchie. Fully. Rising up, towering over him, and Frenchie felt tiny. "You like killing?"</p><p>"Of course not," Frenchie said. "But I think all this back and forth bullshit is stupid, no? Watching someone, trying to catch them off guard."</p><p>"You'd rather be blown straight up?"</p><p>"<em>Oui</em>."</p><p>Frenchie swore MM rolled his eyes, but he moved back to watching Eagle too quickly to be certain. He was always that way. Acting like he was better than everyone else despite still hating Supes, finding them, <em>killing them</em> when Butcher gave the word. Frenchie swallowed down his annoyance and observed The Eagle.</p><p>He did did nothing out of the ordinary. He bought what looked like five boxes of bran cereal, a packet of pop tarts, and a scratch ticket.</p><p>"Gambling a big enough sin?" Frenchie asked, sarcasm dripping in his voice but he didn't care.</p><p>"Depends if it's rigged," MM said.</p><p>"Even eagle vision isn't x-ray," Frenchie said. Then, more to himself, "Is it?"</p><p>"Pretty sure nobody in the animal kingdom has x-ray vision."</p><p>"Since when are you David Attenborough, uh?"</p><p>Before MM could respond, Eagle was out. Walking along the sidewalk, past regular people. Despite being a Supe he was invisible. When Frenchie first joined The Boys this never would have happened. Supes -- <em>all </em>Supes -- were regarded with a near worship type reverence. Saviours. Heroes. Now with The Seven in full swing it was as though anyone not a part of that particular team was reduced to being seen as a  mere human with a few extra talents.</p><p>Frenchie thought <em>he </em>could be on the same level as a Supe with how much he knew on explosives, and it gave him a small tingle of pride. Not that he'd ever share it with MM, Mallory, or Butcher. Too risky.</p><p>The Eagle was going back the way MM and Frenchie had come, so off they went. Past those same reaching posters, past the stores that wafted out different smells of food or perfume or leather shoes. Frenchie tried to stop at one, to at least convince MM to grab a coffee, but no. They had to see The Eagle safely home. Frenchie didn't remember reading <em>chaperone</em> in his job description.</p><p>"What is the point of this?" Frenchie muttered.</p><p>"Same as anything else," MM said. The sun had dipped low enough past the buildings now MM could pull up his sunglasses.</p><p>The Eagle's house wasn't far from the centre of the city. A few twists and turns on the busy sidewalks, MM manging, somehow, to make the sea part. He always had that ability. Didn't need to fight or yell or threaten. He simply gave you a look -- hell, Frenchie realised, he simply <em>existed </em>-- and people listened.</p><p>Frenchie was never granted that talent. He was the weasel. The rat. The guy who scurried between the legs of passerbys and hid in dirty back alleys. The guy who stole and survived on the barest of scraps.</p><p>"There," MM said again. "Home."</p><p>It was nothing glamorous, but still nice. The type of house Frenchie would once dream of living in himself. White brick, mostly alive grass, a green picket fence wrapping around. Eagle struggled with the door as he juggled the grocery bags on his arms, but then he was in. The snip of the lock loud enough -- or maybe the outside world simply quiet enough -- for Frenchie to hear. They moved a little to the left, out the front of the window Eagle stepped past. Hiding in plain sight as MM liked to say. The best way to be hidden.</p><p>"How long are we going to be here?" Frenchie asked. He could feel the come-down start. That twist in his guts and heat prickling his extremities. "Guy's re-filling his refrigerator."</p><p>"Yeah," MM said, and his tone sounded so dejected Frenchie had to look over. "Seems legit."</p><p>They waited a few more minutes, though Frenchie's sense of time was sketchy at best. He wanted to be gone. Back home with Cherie and Jay, either coming down quietly or going back out away from MM and his judgemental gaze. He clicked his tongue and cracked his knuckles and ignored the annoyed look MM kept shooting him. The Eagle disappeared from view somewhere deeper into his house.</p><p>"We can go," MM said.</p><p>
  <em>Thank god.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>MM wrote reports on everything they did.</p><p>Frenchie didn't remember it being something Butcher demanded -- and Frenchie was never going to do it -- but MM still made it happen. Sat down at the little desk of whatever hidey hole they were squatting in, pen and paper, that perfect handwriting flowing over the page.</p><p>"So what are you saying?" Frenchie asked, pulling up a chair. He sent two pens rolling toward the centre of the desk. MM put them back in place.</p><p>"That we followed Eagle," MM said, not breaking his stride. "And nothing out of the ordinary occurred."</p><p>"Can't we just <em>tell </em>Butcher that?"</p><p>"Yes," MM said. He re-capped the pen and placed it next to the others. Four of blue, black, red, and green. Perfectly straight. Frenchie asked him about that once, about why he needed to keep it all neat and proper and in <em>his particular way</em>. MM said it kept him sane. Frenchie couldn't argue that. "But this is proof if Billy needs it."</p><p>"Ah," Frenchie said with a wink. "Knew you didn't trust him."</p><p>MM sighed. "It's not about trust, French, okay? It's about doing the job and doing it right."</p><p>"We did it right," Frenchie said. He leaned further forward. So close he could feel the heat radiating off MM's skin. The a/c in here had been busted since their second day. Frenchie's fault, of course, testing explosives and chemicals until the HVAC sucked it up and spewed out death. "We did <em>exactly </em>what Butcher said."</p><p>"Well maybe," MM said, "this isn't just about Butcher. Maybe I want to do things right by me, too."</p><p>Frenchie swung back on his chair. Front legs flying. Trying to go for nonchalance but sure he was failing. He hadn't thought about things that way before, that MM might be willing to go his own way and do his own things for his own reasons. So many things came back to The Boys and Frenchie figured they were minions in Butcher and Mallory's grand scheme.</p><p>He truly never thought there were other options.</p><p>"Anyway," MM said. He lined up his pens, his paper, his novelty coffee mug they picked up working a job all the way over in Ohio that was shaped like a moose. Frenchie always wondered what would happen if he deliberately messed it all up.</p><p>But he also knew he wouldn't -- couldn't -- do that.</p><p>MM continued, "I'm tired. Tell Butcher to be quiet when he comes back in stumbling drunk."</p><p>"<em>Oui</em>."</p><p>Frenchie watched as MM wandered further down the back of the basement and out of sight behind one of the few doors.</p><p>The silence and loneliness he left was deafening.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Butcher came back, like he always did, then went again, like he always did. Mallory set up deals with Supes to figure things out, and now they were working on some plan to infiltrate The Seven with one of their own. The main issue, of course, was choosing <em>who</em>. They didn't need somebody running to upper management about the plan.</p><p>But, as usual, Frenchie was kept on the outskirts. Given only snippets of information when it was convenient for them. Get him to mix some chemicals, design some weapon, build the bomb. Most nights he went home to Cherie and Jay, shot up if they had something good, then went back to the pawn shop in the morning.</p><p>MM was always in first, like he didn't have some house to go to, some world away from The Boys. He'd be drinking his coffee and organising his notes and doing whatever  else it was he did. Frenchie liked to think MM trusted him more than anyone else in here, but even then the man managed to keep secrets locked up tight.</p><p>"Have you ever seen Pulp Fiction?" MM asked out of the blue.</p><p>"The one with the dancing?" Frenchie did his imitation of that scene he could remember watching while doped up on weed in the backseat of some car he'd taken for a joy ride. MM's face screwed up; Frenchie knew he was trying not to laugh.</p><p>"No," MM said. "Well, yeah, but the scene after they shoot the guy's head off--"</p><p>"Marvin!" Frenchie said. He also remembered that scene. How it'd made him jump and drop the joint on his leg, singing a hole in his brand new jeans.</p><p>"Yeah, Marvin," MM said. "And they need The Wolf to clean it up. You're like The Wolf, bro. You get shit done when it needs to be done -- and only the people who need your help get to know about you."</p><p>"The Wolf," Frenchie murmured. So much better than anything else he'd thought himself as. "Good Supe name, uh?"</p><p>MM grimaced. "Don't go saying that to Butcher or Mallory."</p><p>"Keep it between us, then," Frenchie said. He held up his fist and MM pressed their knuckles together. "I like it. Wolf."</p><p>MM squeezed Frenchie's shoulder. It warmed the skin all the way down his arm and over his chest. "Suits your perfectly."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Apparently watching The Eagle go about his mundane weekly shop wasn't enough.</p><p>"He's up to something," Butcher said, not even looking at Frenchie or MM. Too focused on his laptop screen, on what looked like a speck that might be Homelander or might simply be a person dressed in blue and red. "Someone was murdered with a bow and arrow not far from his house."</p><p>"It's also hunting season, Butcher--" MM began.</p><p>Now Butcher looked over, anger flashing in his eyes. "There ain't no hunting in New York."</p><p>True, Frenchie thought, though people found work arounds everywhere. Who was to say some bored teenager wasn't trying to take down pigeons?</p><p>"And then what do we do?" Frenchie asked, surprising even himself with the bluntness of the words. Mere months ago he wouldn't dare question Butcher, wouldn't risk confronting him and feeling the wrath, but now he had MM beside him and that niggling annoyance that wouldn't let up. What were they doing and why were they doing it? Wasn't the whole point of The Boys to take down The Seven's corrupt Supes? Not to destroy superheroes as a whole if it wasn't necessary.</p><p>Butcher stood up. Stepped closer. He smelt like whiskey and it wasn't yet nine in the morning. "Whatever the <em>fuck </em>I tell you to do."</p><p>And that, so it seemed, was that.</p><p>MM and Frenchie went back out into the streets and once again tracked down The Eagle from his house. They had to wait a long while in that park across the road, dodging dog shit and trash and a questionable number of spilt ice-cream cones. He thought about asking MM to <em>buy </em>an ice-cream, but after the whole coffee thing he knew it wasn't about to happen. MM did his job. <em>Only </em>his job. You'd think Frenchie would have got it into his thick head by now.</p><p>"There," MM said.</p><p>Frenchie looked, watched, and kept up with MM as they took off following Eagle from a solid distance.</p><p>But they weren't even a good few feet into tracking when The Eagle was gone. Disappeared, somehow, and no matter how many circles Frenchie spun or windows he tried to look through there was no evidence that man -- that <em>Supe </em>-- ever existed.</p><p>MM swore. More than once. A litany of words, some of which Frenchie wasn't even sure he understood in English. Didn't matter. The meaning behind it all was the same. They'd fucked up, somehow, and MM was going to beat himself up over it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"I'm not doing this again, Butcher. Not until you give me a <em>fucking </em>good reason."</p><p>"And what reason is that, hmm? You wanna kill a man?"</p><p>"I want to know what I'm following an innocent guy around for! Haven't you ever heard that a man is better than his worse day? That every sinner--"</p><p>"<em>Supes</em>," Billy spat. "Aren't men."</p><p>"Sometimes I think the same about you."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was quiet.</p><p>At least for the time being. Frenchie knew that other foot had to drop, likely right on top of him to squash him like an ant, but for now they seemed almost free of Butcher and his revenge path.</p><p>MM, also, seemed happier. <em>Freer</em>.</p><p>"Let's go for a walk," he said and Frenchie had to check nobody else was around before agreeing.</p><p>The weather wasn't nice. It was muggy, stuffy, like wading through a river, but MM didn't seem to even break a sweat. And was he <em>whistling</em>? Frenchie hurried the pace to keep up and, yep, that was a tune right there. Something he remembered from--</p><p>"Are you singing the <em>Golden Girls </em>theme song?"</p><p>MM grinned. "You like it?"</p><p>"A great show. My American dream."</p><p>"Your American dream is to be part of a group of retired women?"</p><p>"Yes," Frenchie said with an enthusiastic nod.</p><p>"You're too much, French," MM said, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Squeezed. Made Frenchie think, maybe, there was another dream he had. One he'd never dare talk about--</p><p>MM cut off, sudden, and Frenchie turned around.</p><p>"The Eagle," he said. Of course whatever Butcher wanted would end up materialising. It was always the way. "Where is he going?"</p><p>"Fuuuuck," MM said. One long syllable that ended in a whistle of breath. "He's in that fucking Cult Collective."</p><p>"What?" Frenchie said.</p><p>To him, it looked like The Eagle had simply walked into some kind of fancy hall. They were common enough in New York for billionaires who had the money and wanted to show off. Of course, Frenchie had never been able to step inside. His idea of fancy was more along the lines of Olive Garden. All you could eat pasta. Perfection.</p><p>"Church of the Collective," MM said. "That cult all the Supes are joining. Don't tell me you haven't heard it -- it's been on the news everyday for weeks."</p><p>"Don't really listen to the news," Frenchie said. "Too much blah blah blah."</p><p>"Didn't come up on the internet, then?" MM asked. "On one of your wacky forums?"</p><p>"<em>Non</em>. More about drug cartels, weapons making, things like that."</p><p>"You're gonna get the CIA on our asses one day, French."</p><p>"Then I will blow theirs up, no?"</p><p>MM laughed. A deep, throaty sound that seemed to reverberate through his entire body. Frenchie could feel it passing between their fingerprints like some kind of electric current. Palpable, touchable, <em>real</em>.</p><p>And then he stopped, too sudden, and Frenchie was sure The Eagle must be doing something. Ruining this moment where both MM and Frenchie were relaxed. Except, no, MM was looking at Frenchie. Right into his eyes, his soul.</p><p>MM cupped Frenchie's face and brought it up. Still a height discrepancy. A <em>world </em>discrepancy. But here MM was. Touching him. Slowly. Like the rest of the world didn't matter -- and maybe, thought Frenchie, maybe just this once it didn't.</p><p>Frenchie on tip-toes, MM bending down, and Frenchie still having to reach up up for their lips to touch together. Hot, soft, and Frenchie craving more in a way stronger than any drug could offer. MM's hand slid around his neck and held him in. Almost lifting him off the ground. Or was that just the heady sensation his mouth gave to Frenchie? Impossible to tell.</p><p>Another thing that didn't matter.</p><p>MM had strength he didn't notice, Frenchie was sure, and managed to get them pressed against a brick wall. Cold on Frenchie's back; hot on his front. Focused almost entirely on his fast hardening cock. It got all the way there when MM bit down on Frenchie's lower lip.</p><p>"<em>Merde</em>," Frenchie said.</p><p>MM gave a cough of laughter, deep in his throat. "Yeah, <em>merde</em>."</p><p>Their lips met again, again. Each time more desperate and eager than the last. Frenchie got a hand between them, palm on the front of MM's jeans, and pressed in. Loving the grunt MM gave in response and the little movement of his hips. This is what they'd been missing in The Boys. Not all the Supe tracking bullshit. Frenchie. MM. Some form of togetherness Frenchie never wanted to let go of.</p><p>"We need to get back," MM said, grabbing at Frenchie's collar. Kissing him once, twice, a third time, like he never wanted to let go. "Write up a report on the Collective."</p><p>"Yes," Frenchie said, because he knew MM needed it.</p>
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